


Hold On, Yearning, and Tangled Up

by sister_wolf



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-05-04
Updated: 2001-05-04
Packaged: 2017-10-12 10:22:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sister_wolf/pseuds/sister_wolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Monet is leaving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hold On

**Author's Note:**

> I've changed a few canon details where they didn't fit the flow of the story or didn't, honestly, make much sense at all.

No. You will not cry.

You are the daughter of an ambassador. You are Monet St. Croix. You will not cry.

Not over this. Not over the sight of Jubilation's ridiculous green hat receding in the distance as the limousine pulls away.

Not over a hyperactive, immature mall-rat with the attention span of a toddler on a double-espresso… No, I can't be cruel to her. Not even in my private thoughts. Not immature, not after the life she's led. She hides that maturity behind a wall of sarcasm and gum-cracking. Only at rest, in the quiet nest of my bed, I have seen such shadows in her eyes…

Oh, god, I miss her. Not even to the airport yet and the missing her is a pain under my sternum, near my heart. I never knew that heartache meant a literal sensation. And yet it's there, this emptiness where I never even knew she'd crawled under my skin.

Memories: one a.m. on the back porch. The smell of her cigarettes in a light breeze. I hated her cigarettes with a passion. I told her I'd buy her anything, anything at all, if she'd just quit smoking. She told me that she'd tried before, and failed, and so she figured she'd just keep smoking until she stopped needing to. She'd stopped needing marijuana, after all, and there was a point at which she smoked that at least once a day.

I stared at her, somewhat shocked, trying to figure out how she'd gotten _that_ past Ms. Frost and Mr. Cassidy. She laughed at me then, quietly, and said, "That was before the X-Men, silly. Like I could have gotten something like that past Wolvie."

"But you were… you must have been thirteen when you joined the X-Men. Surely…"

She grinned at me, blowing smoke downwind so that I wouldn't have to smell it any more than necessary. "Yeah, I was. Jeez, have I managed to shock the oh-so-sophisticated Monet St. Croix? Write this one down in the history books, boys!"

I scrambled for composure. "I was simply taken aback."

"It's okay, babe. Just teasin' ya." She seemed to be looking into the distance, concentrating on a point that I could not see. "Yeah, I was just thirteen. Orphaned, ran away from the juvie hall, lived in the mall. You'd be surprised… there weren't a lot of us, maybe a dozen at most, and we got along by shoplifting and stealing purses. Runaways, mostly. You know the drill. Drugs were always easy to get if you had the cash or you were willing to barter. I was good at stealing, so getting weed was never a problem for me. And it just… made the pain go away for a while. Made everything soft, so I didn't have to think about what a fucked-up mess my life was for a while."

She shook her head, grinding out her cigarette. I moved closer, tentatively, not wanting to spook her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She rubbed her cheek over my hand, catlike, and I scooted over, putting an arm around her shoulders. She sighed and leaned into me, speaking quietly. "Then one day I saw Betsy, Rogue, and 'Ro. Didn't know who they were, but they were dressed well and carrying those little purses that are easy to snag in a crowd, so I followed them, nothing more on my mind than getting some cash and maybe a credit card or two that I could sell. Then they walked into a cul-de-sac, no crowd, no way to snag a purse without getting caught, and I was almost about to give up and move on, and then the strangest thing happened. A portal opened up, a glowing disk opening into someplace… someplace _else_-- and they stepped right through it. And I followed them through. And I'm thinking to myself, damn, Jubes, what the hell are you getting yourself into now?"

She laughed, that rough little sound I loved. I didn't say anything, afraid that I'd break the mood. Jubilation almost never talks about her past, except of course for her incessant "when I was with the X-Men" stories, and I'd never heard the real story of her joining the X-Men from her before. "So I manage to get through without them noticing me. And I'm in some weird abandoned military base. So I skulk around, doing what I do best, and I figure out that I've managed to follow the freaking X-Men home, and not only that, but I'm in the middle of the goddamned Outback! So I find a nice little nook in the sub-basements and hang out, stealing food from the kitchens and occasionally stealing clothing from the women. And let me tell you, they were wearing some seriously freaky shit back then. Ororo had a mohawk and she wore black leather. I shit you not."

Sobering, she continued, "And then one day they all just left. No warning, just took off. Guess they were sick of the Outback or somethin'. So I'm kinda freaking out, cause I'm in the middle of nowhere, and the food they left ain't gonna last forever, and I have no idea how I'll get back to civilization, or even if Australians have malls for me to be a mall-rat in. And I was poking around up top, trying to find out if they'd left a car or something, and then I… I found him. Wolvie. The Reavers had strung him up on a big X-shaped cross and left him for dead. And I thought he was dead. He looked awful, you know, completely covered in blood, and nails sticking through his wrists and his ankles, and I thought he was dead. And then he spoke."

She was silent for a few moments. I rubbed her arm gently, in little circles, trying to comfort her.

"I had to pull the nails out of his wrists and ankles. He was too weak to do it himself. Wolvie… he was so weak, he could barely move. I had to half-drag him out of the rain. Anyone else would have died with what they did to him. And I saved him. Me. Worthless little mall-rat Jubie managed to save someone's life. He told me… he told me I did good. And I started to believe that maybe I wasn't such a worthless little fuck-up." She shrugged, pain and self-doubt clouding her voice.

I hadn't meant to speak, but I couldn't stop myself. "You are not now nor have you ever been worthless or a fuck-up. I won't allow you to say such things about yourself, Jubilation."

She shifted so that her forehead leaned against mine, only inches between our eyes, our lips. "Shhhhh, chill out, babe. 'Sokay. I know. I know."

I kissed her on the lips, gently, her lips so soft, so different from a man's. She slipped into my lap, leaning her head against my shoulder, her hand tracing small circles across my breastbone. I cradled her in my arms, so small, such a surprisingly small body to contain such a fierce spirit. "I love you."

"Love you too, M. C'mon, let's go get naked."

And now I am leaving her. The road is humming under the limousine's wheels and I am leaving her behind.

Her blue eyes, her cheeky grin, her smooth golden skin, the way her hair stands up in little spikes. Her husky laugh, her gum-cracking insouciance, her fierce loyalty to the people she loves.

And I love her. And I am leaving her.

I cannot, I cannot do this. Loyalty to my family, loyalty to my father, and yet… and yet…

How can I leave her?

Memory: I am walking up the stairs in front of her. She gropes my rear and just laughs when I scold her.

Memory: I am shopping with her in the city. She joins me in the little changing room. We share long, deep kisses, leaning up against the full-length mirror.

Memory: Everett's funeral. She looks so tiny, incredibly fragile, her reddened eyes the only color in her face. I embrace her and we rock together, sobbing.

Memory: The first time we kissed. Tentative, among the scattered papers of our late-night study session. Drawing together, drawing apart, not yet knowing if this is right.

Memory: The first time we made love. Not quite sure of what I was doing, wanting so much to make it good for her. The bone-deep pleasure of watching her orgasm, so beautiful it made my breath stop.

Memory: The last time we kissed. Tears standing in her eyes as she tells me how much she loves me, how much she'll miss me.

I cannot do this. I cannot leave her. I know where my duty lies, with my family, with my father, but I know where my heart lies.

"Turn around. We're going back," I tell the chauffeur.

I know where my heart lies.


	2. Yearning

"Turn around. We're going back," I tell the chauffeur.

I know where my heart lies.

Memory: Our trip to the Renaissance Festival. Jubilation convinced me to go with her… and I, I think I would do anything for her. Anything she asked.

Walking hand-in-hand, and at first I was worried, afraid that someone would make a scene, shout at us for being two girls in love. But no one did. And I realized that perhaps all they saw was two girls holding hands. Sisters, perhaps. Best friends. It is acceptable, in this culture, for women to hold hands. And I felt a flash of sadness, that as gay women we can express our affection for each other safely in public, while gay men cannot. And yet, if they knew that we were lovers, rather than simply friends, would they hate us?

Jubilation knows how to live in the moment. She is grinning, chattering, making little skipping steps, completely happy. I envy her spontaneity. I feel so old, so cold sometimes. I wish I could stop thinking, stop analyzing, just enjoy the moment. And she seems to sense my sadness, for she looks at me with her beautiful blue eyes and smiles and whispers that she loves me.

God I love her.

She tugs me into a clothing shop, excited about the multi-colored hat she saw. I sigh inwardly. Jubilation and her hats. I love the girl, I really do, but why must she wear the most horrifically awful hats? She tugs it onto her head, telling me that it's made of sherpa wool (they shear sherpas?) and that it can double as a purse. It is multicolored, patchwork wool and there are bizarre tufty things sticking out of the top, and she turns to me and grins and asks me what I think and I answer, quite truthfully, that she looks beautiful.

The purse/hat bought, but thankfully in use as a purse for the moment, we continue on, dodging overheated, sticky, whiny children with their pudgy, middle-American parents in tow. I feel overdressed, out of place. I wore a summer-weight cream linen pantsuit, perfectly appropriate for the occasion I thought. And yet I can tell that I am out of synch, inappropriate, too formal. Even after all these years in America I cannot fit in. I do not understand Americans at all, and I know that my natural reserve seems snobbish, cold, bitchy to them. Before Jubilation and I became friends, and later, lovers, she would accuse me of being all of those things and more. I am elitist, I know this. I try to fit in with these people, try to see their loudness, their lack of tact, their rudeness, as positive things, signs of a democratic society. And yet I know, at my core, that I am a snob.

Jubilation looks at me, sees that I am deep in depressing thought again, and tells me that I need to lighten up. I smile at her, weakly, and she blows out her breath in an exasperated sigh and decisively says that we are going shopping.

I point out mildly that we've been shopping for two and one quarter hours. She gives me one of her _looks_ and tells me that we're getting me a new outfit. I try to protest that my current outfit is just fine, but she's towing me along and I give in without too much of a fight.

She brings me to a faux-Middle Eastern tent. The clothing they carry is brocaded silk, rich colors, cut as simple gathered slacks and shawls, and I consider, in a rather self-congratulatory way, that my fashion sense has begun to rub off on Jubilation after all. She darts through their racks, gathering together an armful of brocade, and drags me to their dressing room, a small cubicle of hanging curtains. She pushes me inside and follows me in, tugging the curtain closed behind us. She tells me to strip and I raise an eyebrow at her.

"Strip, babe. Nothin' I haven't seen before," she whispers in her husky little voice, crossing her arms over her chest. There's a challenging light in her eyes, and so I strip, slowly, giving her a show. She continues to grin at me, but I know the look in her eyes, and I lean to her and kiss her, slowly, sweet, the taste of her mouth like honey and smoke.

I break the kiss slowly and straighten again, admiring the way desire darkens the cerulean blue of her eyes to indigo. She bites her lower lip and tells me, "You're not gonna get out of putting this stuff on that way, babe."

She's picked out silk in burgundy and black, my favorite colors. I put the outfit on, loose gathered trousers that wrap around on the outside of both legs, a shawl that winds around my torso bandeau-fashion, covering my breasts in the shape of an X but leaving my back almost entirely bare. I finish tying a knot at the back of my neck to hold the bandeau in place and raise an eyebrow at Jubilation, asking her, "And what era of the Renaissance would this outfit hail from?"

She waves a hand impatiently. "So it's not exactly Renaissancey. So what? Ya look gorgeous, M. Like a genie."

"Djinn," I correct her patiently, but she's already pulling me out of the dressing room, in front of the mirror. I have to admit, it does look rather good on me.

The saleswoman exclaims over the outfit and manages to sell Jubilation on a pair of sandals that she swears will look perfect with it. It seems important to Jubilation and so I go along with it. I cannot bear to make her unhappy. Good lord, I am so "whipped," as she would say.

We leave the stall behind, my linen suit and flats in a shopping bag. The outfit is rather comfortable, and the sandals do look nice with it, and I feel slightly ridiculous but Jubilation is beaming with happiness.

The next stop is a jewelry booth. Jubilation claims that I must have proper jewelry to go with my new outfit. I take a quick glance at the wares and restrain myself from commenting that my diamond pendant is worth more than most of the jewelry in this booth combined. For her, for her, I will be polite.

She's looking at a display of sterling silver rings, lingering over some with an odd heart and hands symbol. "Aren't they gorgeous, M?"

I hate to admit ignorance, but I have no idea what the significance of these rings is. "What does the symbol signify?"

"They're claddaugh rings. Ya wear them to show you're in love." She looks up at me, her eyes shining, and before I know what I'm doing I'm paying for two of them.

Hand in hand, we wind our way through the press of oddly-dressed, over-heated humanity, and up a hill to a patch of shade under a large oak tree. She pulls me over to a bench, but instead of sitting next to me, she kneels before me, holding one of my hands.

Uncertain of her intentions, I glance uneasily about, but no one appears to be watching us. Jubilation grins up at me, her hair sticking up from its barrette in unruly tufts, and says, "Monet St. Croix, will you take me, Jubilation Lee, to be your unlawfully unmarried girlfriend?"

I open and close my mouth a few times, speechless for once in my life. She leans closer to me and mutters, "The proper response is 'I do,' babe."

"Uh… I do." She seems to be expecting me to say something else. I vaguely remember this part from one of Paige's godawful daytime soap operas, so I say tentatively, "Do you, Jubilation Lee, take me, Monet St. Croix, to be your… um…"

"Yadda yadda yadda and all that crap, yes, I do, absolutely and unequivocally, with Pez and Fruitloops and all my heart." And then she leans in and kisses me, in the middle of the Renaissance Faire, in front of thousands of conservative Americans who will no doubt lynch us, forcing me to use my mutant powers in front of them and leading to an international incident which will be front cover news for Time and Newsweek and the lead story on CNN for weeks…

And she breaks the kiss after a few moments, and I stare around anxiously, expecting to see the lynch mob forming, but all I see is a few bored-looking youths and an older woman in an Elizabethan costume who winks at me before walking on.

"See, babe?" she whispers. "The sky didn't fall in after all." And she's grinning at me, that glowing, infectious grin, and I truly cannot tell you when she snuck into my heart and made it her own.

And now the road is humming under the wheels of the limousine, and I lean forward as if the motion will make the car go faster, and I do not know how I ever thought that I could leave her.

I know where my heart lies.


	3. Tangled Up

She's gone. She's really, for sure, no-shitting-around, gone.

I can't believe it. I thought that somehow, someway, she'd change her mind, tell her parents to go to hell, no way, she won't go just cause they told her to. I thought she'd change her mind. Right up till the moment the limousine pulled away.

I can't believe she's gone. I can't believe she didn't stay with us, stay with me, me, how could she leave me? Fuck I know, I know her family's important to her, but I thought I was too. I thought she loved me. She does love me, she does, she does… just not enough to stay. With me.

And so here I am, alone again. Fuck. I can't… I can't deal with being left alone. Again. Alone, me, alone, always. Everyone I love either dies or leaves me. Sometimes both. Oh fuck, I can't take this, I can't I can't I can't…

And I can't stop the sob from breaking free from my chest. No, oh hell, no, I didn't want them to know I was upset, oh shit, now Jono's coming over to me with this awful _compassionate_ crinkle around his eyes. **You alright, Jubie?**

Oh hell, I didn't want to be weak, weak, me, always weak, always left behind, and I can't stop myself from launching myself into Jono's chest and sobbing into his bandages. His arms come around me and he's murmuring to me in his mind that **Ssssh, Jubes, s'okay, sweetheart, s'okay…** and I'm soaking his bandages and I can't seem to stop. Crying.

Because I'm always left behind, always alone, always, and I love her. Monet. Love her. And I should have known that I'd be left behind. Of course she'd leave me. She's beautiful and poised and sophisticated and everything that I'm not. I should have known, from the first time we. Kissed. And the way her mouth tasted, all cinnamon and spices and exotic, like the Arabian Nights, like something I could get addicted to tasting. To kissing.

I hated her at first, you know. Hated. Thought she was all stuck-up and snobby and such a _complete_ bitch. And she's not, you know? She's really just shy and she doesn't get people, Americans especially. Okay, yeah, she's kind of a snob too, but it's the way she was brought up. Rich and powerful and shit.

I never thought we'd end up together. Never. Not even when we became friends. Course I thought I was straight, too. Wow, guess I was a little off on that one, huh? Crap, oh hell, I can't believe she's gone, can't believe she left…

No, gotta think about something else, anything else. What would Wolvie say? Shit, it's like Paige's Christian thing, ya know, What Would Jesus Do? Only it's What Would Wolvie Do? Heh. Normally, drink beer and pound the shit out of people. I miss Wolvie. I miss him. He'd tell me it'll be all okay, and I'd believe him, cause Wolvie's always right, you know? He'd hug me, and smell like Wolvie, all kind of furry and male and cigar-smoke and beer, and everything would be all right. Everything. Everything.

But Wolvie's not here, and Jono's hugging me, which is almost as good except he smells different, like cigarette smoke and ozone, and he's _not Wolvie_, but it's almost as good, and I'm sobbing like an idiot in front of the whole team. Well, so much for them not knowing that Monet and I were fucking, huh? And I can almost laugh, almost, but no, no, cause we weren't just fucking, we were in love, at least I thought we were in love. Shit, I got down on one knee in front of her and practically proposed to her. Practically asked her to marry me. Practically asked her to never ever leave me. Not leave me. Which is what she's just done.

The first time we kissed. The first time. The first time kissing a girl ever, and kissing Monet, and she tasted all cinnamon, and I couldn't believe I'd just kissed Monet, and I couldn't believe she'd just kissed me back. Kissed me back, and her lips were so soft, and her hand touched my cheek, and then we pulled apart and we stared at each other and I think we were just so surprised. And I wanted to kiss her again, and I didn't know, maybe she'd just haul off and slap me but I had to know, had to know if she'd let me kiss her again. So I kissed her. And she kissed me back, not just that, she slipped her hands into my hair and we were _really_ kissing, tongues and everything. And we must have kissed for, I don't know, like half an hour or something. Just getting to know each other's mouths, shifting so I was leaning across her chest and just odd that, feeling her breasts against mine. Feeling her breath in my mouth. Feeling how soft, how silky her hair is, compared to mine. And finally we stopped and just stared at each other again, and I told her she was beautiful. And she smiled at that, really smiled, not just the perfect closed-mouth smile she has for everyone else, but a real smile that made her eyes crinkle and showed that she really does have a dimple. And she told me I was beautiful too. Me! Skinny little Jubilee with the weird-ass blue eyes and the spiky hair, who no one ever ever said was beautiful before. I think, I honestly really think, that I fell in love with her right that moment. Right there, on the floor of Monet's dorm room, on top of the scattered notes we were supposed to be studying for a World History mid-term.

And she's left me. Left me.

The first time I told her I loved her. Tangled up on her bed, not enough room really for two people unless you snuggled, and that was fine with me, I love being held. I don't have nightmares when I'm being held. We were just lying there, snuggling, her hand stroking my hair, humming to herself gently, no real melody, just the soft sound of her voice, and I told her I loved her. She didn't say anything and I started to feel afraid, worried that she didn't love me back, that I shouldn't have said anything, that she wouldn't want to be with me anymore, and I pushed myself up on my elbows and stared down into her face. She was frowning, and now I knew I'd fucked up, she didn't love me, this was just about sex for her, and now I'd told her I loved her and she'd tell me to get out, to go away, to stay away from her. And I was just at the point of panicking and telling her not to worry about it, just forget it. And she looked into my eyes and I could see that she was almost crying. And she told me she loved me too.

"Why would that make you cry?" I asked her.

"Because I am afraid that I will hurt you, Jubilation. You are so very precious to me." And now she did start to cry and I cried too, holding her, not sure why I was crying but not able to stop.

Can't stop crying. Can't stop hurting, oh it hurts so much, so much that she's gone. Gone. The smooth sweep of her hair, the little frown she gets when she feels that she's not performing at her best, the way her eyes are so sleepy and unguarded in the morning, lying together in her bed, first kiss of the morning before we have to go get ready for the day of pretending we're not together. Can't believe the others never figured it out. Course maybe Jono did, cause he's not acting all surprised that I'm sobbing my heart out because Monet left. Left, oh left, oh she's gone oh gone gonegonegone…

And I hear the crunch of gravel in the drive, the sound of a car coming up to the school, and I know I know I know it can't be her, can't possibly, can't be that she came back, but I can't stop the little bit of hope in my heart and I pull away from Jono's chest and I look and it is her. Monet. She came back she came back she came back to me. And I'm running across the drive and she opens the car door and she's here she's back she's not leaving me.

And we kiss. We kiss against the side of the limousine and I don't care if the whole world sees it because Monet's come back to me.

"I love you," I tell her.

"I couldn't leave you," she tells me.

And we kiss.


End file.
